


Cosmic Mistake

by Felgia_Starr



Series: DFW 2020 Challenge [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Dreams, F/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/pseuds/Felgia_Starr
Summary: In a world where one can only get a hint of who their soulmate is from music that comes through their dreams once a year and nearly everybody lost interest in the whole ‘meant to be’ concept, there is one Hermione Granger—who believes that her soulmate should be as perfect as her expectations and has strong resentful feelings against music—and one Draco Malfoy, a musical prodigy with little-to-no care about his future and a firm non-believer of love. Despite all the odds and uncertainties, they meet and realize that destiny might have made a mistake when it paired the two together. Are they right? Or does destiny actually make great points?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: DFW 2020 Challenge [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666876
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	Cosmic Mistake

Hermione’s eyes burst open, her chest heaving and her head spinning as she forces herself to sit up. A drip of sweat rolls down the side of her face, and her fists are shaking. And it’s almost like the temperature dropped in the bedroom out of nowhere, chills settling over her body like serpents threatening to take her life.  
  
She tries to swallow down the uneasiness she feels, but it stings her throat as it goes down. Letting out a frustrated huff, she opens up her fists and puts her hands up to her face to rub at her eyes.  
  
When her mind realizes that it is far too quiet in the room, it conjures back the ear-piercing music from her dream, the melody forcing its way to her ears once more.  
  
The music is louder than ever before. Her inner self that she’s suppressed for so long loves the sound, finds it beautiful and hopeful. Truthfully, she’s nothing but annoyed by it. She thinks of it as a nuisance, especially now that she dreams of it every night, signalling the change or the person that’s about to come to her life.  
  
The music changes every night, supposedly because it represents the emotions of her other half. When she first heard it when she was ten years old, it sounded like a pianist’s serenade, meant to have a romantic poem to go with it. On Monday, nothing but the gentle strums of the acoustic guitar filled her dream. Yesterday, it was a horrible clashing of electrical instruments that disturbed her sleep. And now, it’s all piano and violin, the volume unbearable but the melody almost comfortable. But no matter what it sounds like, there’s nothing that can change her opinion about music.  
  
She hates every single thing about it. It’s raucous; it’s displeasing to the ears; it brings back all sorts of terrible memories from her childhood; and it makes her feel inferior.  
  
She screws her eyes shut, willing the noise to go away. When wishing it gone works, she’s mildly surprised but relieved nonetheless. Taking a few minutes to catch her breath, Hermione gets up from her bed and scuffles straight into her bathroom.  
  
There, she splashes her face with tap water, trying to wash away all memories of that dream. It’s the worst one she’s ever had, by far the most intense and the loudest. It only meant one thing—she is going to meet her soulmate soon.  
  
She doesn’t know why her heartbeat doubles at the mere thought of her other half. Quite frankly, she finds all of it annoying—the quickening of her heart, the heating up of her cheeks, and the loudening music in her dreams. She also isn’t sure why she even heard the soulmate music so clearly—she’s 100% certain that she took the soulmate suppressant pills right before she slept.  
  
Frowning at the said bottle of pills right behind the toothpaste on the counter, Hermione wonders if she’s taken enough of it. The NegaSoma medicine, or more informally known as the soulmate suppressant pills, was made for people who are frequently disturbed by the sole existence of their soulmates. It’s meant to suppress the symptoms or feelings brought about by having a destined significant other. Usually, normal people intake two pills before rest to ensure an enjoyable and soulmate-free day after awakening. And usually, it works—but now, as the day of doom approaches, Hermione finds herself plagued by intrusive soulmate thoughts and dreams once more.  
  
She sighs, twisting the faucet so as to halt the running water. While she may not dislike the idea of having a perfect other half, Hermione loathes the music that continuously swarms her mind every time she even thinks of her soulmate. She can’t explain it eloquently herself, but the way music makes her feel is truly sickening and disturbing to her. Maybe it’s because of what music represents to her. Maybe it’s because of the utter bullshit that she associates with music. Maybe it’s because of her loathsome, good-for-nothing, and constantly unimpressed father who—  
  
Hermione takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling through her nose. As soon as she regains composure, she pushes herself away from the lavatory, turning to the bathtub. She sits on the side of it and begins to fill it up with water, preparing for a hopefully relaxing bath to wash off all the daddy and soulmate issues that continue to torment her mind.

* * *

To Draco, the frustrated notes of the grand piano, accompanied by the beautiful yet melancholic sounds of the classical violin, from his most recent dream is, though obnoxiously loud, reassuring and almost comfortable to the ears. Having lived with it for most of his life—ever since he was four because of some rare condition—the soulmate music is something he is accustomed to, something familiar that reminds him of a home he created for himself when he was a child.  
  
As he always does whenever the soulmate music visits his dreams, Draco takes out an instrument to his liking and recreates the tune that is supposed to symbolize his relationship with the person he’s destined to be with. He isn’t surprised anymore when his fingers seemingly move on their own and duplicate the exact melody he heard in his dream; unlike normal people, his memory isn’t quick to flush away the soulmate song as soon as he wakes up—instead, he is able to remember each detail from every soulmate-associated dream he’s had ever since he was four years old, and oftentimes, he turns them into love songs with half-arsed romantic words plastered on top of the melody.  
  
Who knows? Maybe it will make his soulmate happy or something when he eventually meets them. Maybe they’ll even love his music enough to sing for him every time he strums a string or two.  
  
His eyes shut automatically when the tender drawl of his favourite instrument at the moment, the acoustic guitar, overcomes his senses. Music as an experience is something he’ll never get sick of. Every time he plays an instrument in his bedroom or listens to popular hits on the radio or writes the lyrics to a song that is constantly rewinding in his head, Draco swears he catches a small glimpse of heaven—his mind clears up, the rest of the world fades, and utter calmness fills his entire being.  
  
‘ _Who needs drugs when you can get high from music?_ ’ Breaking out of the near nirvana state music put him in, he lets out a small laugh at the thought. His life is pathetic, and he knows it.  
  
A preacher or a priest might say that everyone on Earth has a purpose, has an impact on their god’s divine plan, but he believes he’s the sole exception to that. He isn’t quite sure why he’s still alive or why he was born in the first place. There must be more to his life than wasting away in his dead parents’ house, right?  
  
He subconsciously shrugs, settling the guitar on his lap to get a good look at the morning sun outside his window. The sunrise makes the sky bleed a breathtaking blue and pink. Birds that consider the tree outside of his bedroom window as home begin to chirp softly and leaves start to sway almost imperceptibly, making for a very good morning.  
  
Sighing peacefully at the serene sight, Draco has to wonder if his soulmate is gazing at the same sunrise as him, music from their dream also softly ringing in their ears.

* * *

Out of nowhere, Hermione’s head begins to ache and pulse, her eyes shutting forcefully at the pain. She loses control of her breathing, her heart stomping loudly in her chest. Fingers tingling and limbs shaking, she makes an attempt to continue walking, but the music that suddenly rushes in her ears forces her to make an abrupt halt.  
  
She releases an uncontrollable gasp as the music starts to play in her mind—the same music she heard last night, an almost whimsical and majestic song of the whole orchestra just playing away in her head. Her brain thinks that the music is a danger to her person and should be shut down immediately, but her heart feels as though the music is something to be cherished and loved and kept forever. Hermione is utterly perplexed.  
  
As a medical doctor, she supposes she should have a word for the way her heartbeat accelerates with the music in her mind, for the way her senses tingle pleasurably, or even for the way she feels nothing but pure happiness rushing through her veins, but she’s ashamed to say that she doesn’t. This has never happened before. Yes, of course, the soulmate music is bound to make her feel clichéd romantic feelings—however, she’s never experienced something like this before. This unexplainable _something_ that makes her speechless.  
  
And it’s all happening because of one man—one beautiful blond man that’s sitting a few feet away from her, his fingers expertly moving across the strings of his guitar as the hospital crowd cheers him on. Only she doesn’t hear the crowd or even the song he’s currently playing with his own hands; the soulmate music has conquered her ears, and she’s not aware of anything else happening around her but him, his presence. His bittersweet presence.  
  
His eyes meet hers, and the connection that soon establishes between them is almost magical. Something akin to electric currents run through her spine. And she swears that she can clearly see every detail of his grey eyes from all the way across the room, that the silver and blue specks in his gaze is as clear to her as everything else about him. He’s so beautiful, and that realization is enough to make a tight sob form in her throat and tears appear in her eyes. She can’t help but cry inwardly at the tragedy of it all, the irony of it all— _of course_ , her fucking soulmate has to be a goddamn musician.  
  
When Hermione is forced to close her eyes to keep the tears at bay, she’s also forced to snap back to reality. It’s a difficult task not to get lost in his gaze, but she somehow manages to accomplish it, looking away from his person and swallowing her heart back down.  
  
Turning back to where she came from, Hermione rushes the steps back to her office, her heart aching with each distance she makes between them. She pays no mind the long line of potential patients that are waiting for their turn with an appointment with her; as much as she hates to admit it, she cannot work in this state.  
  
As soon as she steps foot in her office, she absentmindedly tells her assistant to cancel all appointments today and to refer them to a different doctor in the building and slams the door closed, locking the knob almost immediately.  
  
She takes a deep breath, attempting to gather her scrambled thoughts and turn them into coherent ones. She should’ve brought the NegaSoma with her. Obviously not knowing she would need them today, Hermione left her supply back at home, and now she begins to regret her decision to leave them all behind. She’s in a soulmate frenzy, and she hates that she secretly loves it.  
  
Having a musician for a soulmate isn’t a part of her plan!  
  
There is no way fate hates her this much. There is no way her soulmate can be a fucking musician. There is no way she’s going to tie herself down to a man who seems to enjoy the only thing that keeps her from being a truly perfect person.  
  
There has to be a mistake. _They_ have to be a mistake.

* * *

Draco catches a good glimpse of his soulmate for the second time during Potter and Pansy’s wedding, more specifically when the newlyweds are having their first dance as a married couple to a certain love song of his that remains to be the bride’s favourite.  
  
He calls the song ‘The Serenade’. It is one of the first vocal songs he ever composed, also directly taken from the melody of one soulmate dream he had many years ago. No doubt his soulmate, at the very least, _recognizes_ the sound. And maybe she’s unaware of it, but he can clearly see the way her head slowly sways at the melodic tunes of the grand piano he’s playing, and maybe she’s even mesmerized by his singing voice. Maybe she wants him to play and sing for her nonstop. And maybe he wants that, too. Maybe he just plainly wants _her._ _  
_ _  
_ And who wouldn’t, he supposes? Draco isn’t a stranger to feminine allure, but everything about her appearance seems so new to him—her wild brown curls, her soul-penetrating gaze, the shape of her face, body, and just about everything. He’d be lying if he says he wouldn’t want to explore every inch of her skin with his eyes, hands, and most importantly, mouth.  
  
He quirks his lips up a tad in an attempt to make her feel… _something,_ and he finds that he’s almost hurt when she rolls her eyes and turns away to look in another direction as a response.  
  
Doesn’t she feel the same burning desire that’s constantly licking at his skin? Doesn’t she feel the same overwhelming itch that threatens to take over his very soul every time he so much as think about her?  
  
He’s pretty sure the whole soulmate thing goes for both parties, so she must feel the same things about him, right?  
  
Keeping his eyes on his captivating soulmate, he catches her in the act of trying to conspicuously glance back at him. He cannot help the smirk that slowly twisted on his lips, feeling the need to laugh when she realizes she’s been caught and looks away again, her cheeks reddening. He wonders if her skin would also look as flushed as it does right now if she’s underneath him, panting in exhaustion and eyes blazing in pleasure.  
  
Draco has to physically shake the naughty thoughts out of his head, his smirk never waning as he finishes the song with its last drawn-out notes. He cringes at the sound of his own voice, not knowing why everyone else seems to enjoy it. He says his congratulations to the newlyweds before getting off the stage, opting to head in his soulmate’s direction.  
  
It’s crazy how fated they appear to be. When she ran off on him in the hospital, he never thought he’d get a chance to see her again, but it turns out she was one of Potter’s friends, and it’s like they were truly destined to be with each other. And he isn’t quite certain on how that makes him feel.  
  
Draco is willing to admit that he’s absolutely shit with relationships, partly because his previous girlfriends were more into the contents of his wallet than him as a person and mostly because he thinks love is plain bullshit. Not that he’s saying he wouldn’t want to commit to one person for the rest of his life—frankly, that sounds quite beautiful in his ears—but he has to ask, what does love have to do with it or anything at all?  
  
He notices his soulmate’s eyes are watching every step he takes towards her, and when he finally makes it right in front of her, he’s ashamed to admit he is rendered speechless by her beauty alone.  
  
“What do you want?” - are the first words she says to him, her tone laced with poorly-concealed annoyance. The question is short and clipped, but he’d be a damn liar if he says her voice isn’t the most pleasing music he’s ever heard. He simply cannot wait to make her sing, preferably tonight.  
  
Draco thinks it’s pathetic of him when he finds he’s unable to get rid of the gigantic smile on his face. “My name is Draco Malfoy, and I just want to ask you if you’d be willing to escape this cheesy event with me?”  
  
He hears her breath catching as soon as the first word leaves his mouth, her eyes glazing over in deep thought or distraction—he’s not quite sure which. She hesitates, but when she does speak, nothing about it betrays her uncertainties.  
  
“I’m Hermione Granger, and yes please take me with you when you leave.”  
  
And that’s when he realizes the soulmate thing _does_ affect both of them.

* * *

Draco Malfoy kisses like he wants his lips to remain on her skin long after he’s gone. There is a certain desperation in the way he tugs at her lips with his teeth, the way he swipes his tongue all around her mouth, and the way his moans and breaths leave an imprint on her mouth. It’s the singlemost erotic thing Hermione has ever experienced.  
  
She cannot fathom how badly she wants this man. He’s more or less a stranger—she only just learned his name!—and she isn’t sure if they’re truly compatible with each other, but his fingertips feel like burning embers as they go over every inch of her exposed skin and his lips are so addictively decadent, and she just cannot get enough.  
  
It’s terrifying yet also exhilarating. When they touch, it’s as though her grip on her self-control slips and reality becomes blurry and distant. She can’t help it. Why did she deny this man the first time, again? Someone ought to remind her because at the moment, her brain is completely drunk on lust for her gorgeous soulmate.  
  
Soon, her dress, his shirt, and every article of clothing they previously had on are on the floor; their hands are on each other’s skin, like they were made to be there, touching and exploring and feeling.  
  
Hermione usually hates being in a strange and foreign situation, but this kind of alien, this kind of new, is something that makes her feel a brand new emotion—an emotion that’s somewhere between ecstasy and contentment.  
  
And when he finally sinks into her, successfully connecting the two bodies that are supposedly meant to be one, his name becomes a prayer on her lips.  
  
“Draco,” she moans, her fingernails marking him as hers as he relentlessly thrusts in and out of her. The feeling of him moving inside her is glorious, and she wants to feel it again and again and once more after that. “Oh God, Draco! _Draco, yes!_ ”  
  
She cannot help but love the taste of his name on her tongue, the sound of his uncontrolled grunts in her ear, and the sweet scent of sex intermingling with his sweat.  
  
Her orgasm, when it comes, doesn’t even feel like a sexual climax—it’s more like an awakening, like an out of body experience where she feels every single emotion at once.  
  
Afterwards, Hermione realizes she’s utterly fucked in both meanings of the word.

* * *

Hermione Granger isn’t a big fan of his music—or maybe just music in general—and Draco cannot say that he understands why. In fact, he’s confused. Very, very confused. She must be the first person he’s ever met with an aversion to music, and she makes sure every time that he knows it.  
  
After the first time they fucked, Draco grabbed hold of his acoustic guitar and strum the strings to the tune of their latest soulmate music. He expected Hermione to fawn over his talents and compliment him, but instead she told him to “shut the fuck up” and hastily put her dress back on, storming off without so much a goodbye.  
  
The next day after that, he visited the hospital he knew she worked in and she agreed to let him pick her up after her shift. He took her to the cliffside and they once again had crazy passionate soulmate sex; afterwards, he tried to sing her the song he created after their first encounter, but she just groaned and complained and left again.  
  
And many times after that, whenever he tries to play an instrument or sing or even just turn the sodding radio on, Hermione vehemently tells him to piss off with his music bullshit. He doesn’t understand how someone can be so hateful against a thing that’s literally the only thing he loves in the world.  
  
Maybe she’s not just a big fan of _him_ , in general.  
  
And he doesn’t know why that thought makes his shoulders slump, his gaze drop, and his chest ache. Heck, he doesn’t know why he’s feeling the things he’s feeling whenever she’s near him most of the time.  
  
It’s all so very new to him. Even though it’s a heinous act, he cannot help but compare her to his previous girlfriends. It’s no question that his only two exes were both excellent fucks, but he always felt indifferent towards them. Most of the time, he never cared enough about them to spare them a thought. But Hermione’s different; he feels her on his skin all the time, he hears her in the songs he writes, and he sees a picture of her nude heavenly body during the most inappropriate moments. And he kind of loves that she makes him feel so many different things.  
  
Maybe it’s the whisky talking, but Draco genuinely wouldn’t think it terrible to pursue a real relationship with the woman who’s currently lying naked on his bed, in his bedroom. No matter how infuriating and confusing she gets, he finds himself intrigued by her passions, desires, dislikes, and dreams.  
  
He doesn’t think she feels the same way, though. Hermione seems to go against every single thing he actually enjoys. She doesn’t seem to be as interested in him as he is in her.  
  
He knows by the way she avoids him in crowded public places that being an ‘aspiring musician’ is a fucking joke to her. She’s clearly a person with god-level standards, and he supposes if he was, too, a person who’s nearly as perfect as a divine being, he would also have very high expectations for everyone. He knows by the way she shuts him down each time he attempts to play music for her that music is nothing but mere annoyance to her.  
  
Well if Hermione hates music that much, how in the fuck did they get paired together? And why? Do the fates enjoy taking the piss out of both of them? Are they truly just a great cosmic mistake?  
  
The emotions are real—he clearly wants her, not really knowing why—but the connection is just a tad bit blurry. 

* * *

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers against her neck, the feel of his breath on her skin making her shiver.  
  
Hermione cannot help but kiss him then, pulling him up by his hair and forcing their lips to meet. She pulls away before it gets too intense and shoves him back beside her. Draco lets out a soft laugh in response to her light push, and her heartbeat quickens at the sound of it.  
  
“Shut up,” she huffs, turning away from him and hogging all the covers as she tries to be comfortable enough for a good night’s sleep.  
  
When her eyelids droop and sleep is just one reach away from her, she begins to hear the screeching of Draco’s violin, and it’s enough to pull her back into conscious state once more.  
  
He plays the violin so beautifully, and she finds herself almost envious, but she can never find it in her to enjoy his music. Her mind is too plagued by insecure thoughts and feelings to even listen to the music he’s playing.  
  
She tries to ignore the apprehension that worsens the longer she hears Draco’s violin. She tries to screw her eyes shut, tries to forget every mean word she’s ever heard from her stupid dad. But it’s all she can ever hear.  
  
‘ _Useless,_ ’ her dad’s voice in her head hisses, ‘ _that’s what you are. You know nothing but to overachieve and try to please everybody. Well, I got news for you, darling, you will never please me if you continue to be this useless._ ’  
  
Hermione’s fingers clench into fists, her nails digging into her palm.  
  
‘ _Stupid girl! You cannot do anything right, can you? Start over! You are not leaving that piano until you’ve memorized every note! What are you waiting for? Start over!’_ _  
_ _  
_ She sits up abruptly, hands shaking as they rub at her eyes.  
  
‘ _Nothing but perfection will suffice, do you hear me, Hermione? I want perfect music coming out of that piano later. Perfect posture, perfect position, perfect music. Do you understand?’_ _  
_ _  
_ “Can you stop?” Hermione snaps at Draco who immediately stops whatever he’s doing with his stupid violin. “I can’t deal with this music crap right now.”  
  
Instead of giving in to her request submissively, Draco surprises her by snorting and talking back. “You never deal with this music crap.”  
  
Confused, she looks into his eyes, searching for answers. When she realizes he’s just really trying her today, she sighs and gets off the bed, intending to dress up and head for the door as usual.  
  
Before she can grab her knickers on the floor, an arm grips her wrist.  
  
“Enough running away from me,” Draco firmly says, making her look back at him. “I’m sick of watching you walk away.”  
  
“Then close your eyes,” she snaps, wrenching her arm away from his hold.  
  
He groans. “Let’s talk about this.”  
  
That makes her pause.  
  
“Why?” she asks suspiciously. “We never talk about anything.”  
  
He shrugs. “Maybe that’s the problem.”  
  
Hermione stands up straight, sizing him up with her gaze once again. When she sees nothing but exhaustion in his eyes, she decides to humour him just this one time. She goes back to sitting on the bed, pulling the blankets around her naked frame.  
  
“Alright.” She nods. “What do you want to talk about?”  
  
He sets his violin and bow back down and goes to sit next to her, his arms automatically making their way around her. She subconsciously leans into his chest, her head resting near his neck.  
  
“Do you hate me?” he asks quietly, as though he’s afraid the rest of the world might hear and judge him.  
  
She nuzzles deeper into his hold, feeling contentment and warmth and other fuzzy feelings. “No.”  
  
She swears she can feel him sigh in relief after her monosyllabic answer.  
  
“Do you hate my music?”  
  
Hermione stiffens. “No.”  
  
“Then why?”  
  
She goes quiet for a while, analyzing her situation. When she draws the conclusion that the best course for her to take is to tell the truth, she takes a deep breath. “Do you want the stupid ugly truth?”  
  
She feels him nod against her, noticing that he’s also beginning to curl up around her.  
  
“I’m not particularly a fan of music, I’m sure you’ve noticed,” she begins nervously. “It doesn’t exactly sound unappealing to me, but rather the feelings I associate with it are unpleasant.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“When I was younger, my father dictated my life,” she admits slowly, feeling uneasy. “He was the one who raised me. He’s very hard to please, and he’s also a musician, actually. He tried to train me in the music field, but I was never really good enough for him. He tells me all the time that I’m useless at it. And I hate that he’s right. I hate that I’m not good at playing the fucking grand piano. I hate that it’s the only thing that’s keeping me from being perfect.”  
  
Draco begins to pull away from her, but she wraps her arms around his neck so he can’t drift away. He can’t leave. He can’t laugh at her. He can’t call her stupid when she all but bared her soul to him. He can’t abandon her, not now.  
  
“You are perfect,” she hears him mumble, holding her tighter instead of pulling away like he initially intended. “From head to toe, you’re perfect. _For me._ ”  
  
When his words inevitably make her cry, she wipes her tears on his bare skin, in a way hoping that they would be enough to mark him as hers.  
  
He’s slowly but surely melting down all her icy walls, and she’s just honest-to-god relieved that finally, it feels like someone is trying to see her for who she really is—a lost, imperfect soul who’s trying her best to reach a standard she didn’t originally set for herself.  
  
Then she suddenly finds herself anticipating what the future may bring.

* * *

Hermione Granger looks incredibly adorable, sitting on the kitchen counter in only his dress shirt and her skimpiest pair of knickers, her hair messily pulled up into a bun and her face delicately scrunched up into pure confusion.  
  
He cannot help but smile at the perfect image she makes. Every now and then, such as at this very moment, Draco gets an uncontrollable urge to touch her—not always in a sexual manner, sometimes a simple hand on her thigh or his arms wrapping around her frame in a safe embrace will suffice. His skin seemingly becomes electrified, overwhelmed by the need to have his soulmate extra close to him. Sometimes, he can’t help but touch her, but other times, he really, really just wants to touch her. At this point, he doesn’t even know if it’s the soulmate thing influences his urges whenever he’s with her or if it’s just his stupid perverted brain and lack of self-control.  
  
God, he’s such a pathetic bloke.  
  
But even as he thought that, Draco inches closer to his soulmate, connecting all their fingers together and leaning in towards her to kiss Hermione’s soft, pouty lips. She never really gets shy around him, and as soon his lips landed on hers, she kisses him back, her tongue lightly tapping at his mouth whilst he leaves teasing bites on her lips.  
  
When she eventually pulls away from him, he is left lingering, staring at her swollen mouth and getting all distracted.  
  
Where are they, again?  
  
“So you don’t believe in love?” she asks, her head slightly tilted to the right, as though the whole concept of it was unimaginable to her.  
  
Oh, yes, he remembers now.  
  
He just finished telling Hermione that he doesn’t believe in love. Yay.  
  
Draco takes a deep breath, moving his arms to be around her waist, pinching and caressing her skin. “Well, it’s not that I completely don’t believe in love. I don’t believe in the love that people think they hold for other people—an example would be a bloke telling his girlfriend that he loves her. I don’t believe in _that_ kind of love, the love we supposedly have for other people. I don’t think it’s quite possible for a human being to unconditionally love another human being.”  
  
Hermione remains unconvinced. “Why not?”  
  
“Well—” He sighs, rubbing his left hand over his face frustratedly. “From what I’ve seen from life, my own and others, I’ve come up with a theory of sorts, and that theory states that human beings are incapable of loving their fellow human beings, instead they fall in love with the concepts, ideas, and thoughts each person relates to others, not the actual man or woman themselves.”  
  
“But aren’t the concepts, ideas, and thoughts what make the person? Aren’t they small parts of one whole?”  
  
“No, it’s more like a mother loving her child. She loves her child because it’s her child, not because of the actual person that is her offspring,” explains Draco, his grip on her waist tightening as the minute passes by. When Hermione’s frown deepens, he is quick to continue. “It’s difficult to explain, but I just don’t think love for another person is possible! I think it’s more plausible and quite frankly, easier, to be in love or to love things, concepts, objects, and other metaphysical shite we can actually recognize for ourselves.”  
  
She slowly nods, understanding finally passing through her brown eyes. “Okay, I think I get it.”  
  
Still, he proceeds, “I can safely say I love music with all my black fucking heart and you can say that you absolutely love sex with me.”  
  
Hermione snorts, a smile instantly spreading across her cheeks. “I will never say that.”  
  
Draco raises an eyebrow in challenge, his hands already travelling under the dress shirt she’s wearing. “Is that so?”  
  
Hermione nods, the adorable smile on her mouth turning into a seductive lick of her succulent lips.  
  
Intrigued and aroused, he follows every movement her pert little tongue makes. With a groan, he leans in and gives her the most desperate kiss, intending to swallow every fucking moan she has.  
  
Desperate hands grab at her breasts, squeezing and caressing and teasing. He doesn’t know anymore why he always gets this _unhinged_ with her. He just knows that he’s addicted to the mere idea and feel of his cock pounding into her while her moans and groans and sounds of pleasure make a symphony right in his ear.  
  
He doesn’t find enough time to take off her knickers and his trousers, choosing to only pull them down just enough for him to enter her in the most blissful way.  
  
Her fingernails claw at his back, but he cannot find it in himself to give a fuck. Her teeth nibble at the shell of his ear as breathy moans come out of her lips.  
  
Right before he comes, he captures her lips again, so they’ll be connected in every way possible. When she reaches climax, her whole body shivers and her jaw drops, never making a single sound. He holds her throughout all of it, as though he’s afraid she’ll break if he takes his eyes off of her for even one second.  
  
A smile is fixed on her face afterwards, her lids hooded and her cheeks red. Draco swears he forgot how to breathe while he stares ather, caught up in her beauty.  
  
Her hands move to his face, the tips of her fingers stroking his cheeks, and he finds himself even more entranced than ever.  
  
“I can love you,” she suddenly declares, gentle determination settling over her brown eyes.  
  
And he doesn’t know why that one sentence is the both the best and most dreary music he’s ever heard in his entire life.

* * *

“Don’t you want to finish your studies and get a more stable job?” Hermione suggests, shrugging.  
  
Draco’s scowl deepens, gripping his guitar tighter until his knuckles turn white. “No. I don’t need school or a job, Granger. I have more than enough money to last me at least five lifetimes.”  
  
She gets more frustrated. “But don’t you think you’ll be a lot wealthier if, for example, you finished business education and became a businessman?”  
  
“I probably would be, but I honestly don’t give a shit about that kind of stuff, Hermione.” He sighs, leaning back and away from her instead of towards her like she’s used to.  
  
“You’re just lazy,” she spits, getting angrier by the minute.  
  
He raises a brow at her. “Excuse me?”  
  
“You’re nothing but a pathetic loser who can’t get a real job, so instead of working hard and studying hard for it like the rest of us—you just settle for this music crap and think that becoming a musician is a real aspiration!”  
  
Draco scoffs. “So that’s what this is all about? You think I’m useless just because I’m not like you—you! A person who’s so obsessed with her career that she doesn’t have any genuine relationships and emotional capabilities!”  
  
She gasps. “At least I don’t hang around my flat all day and do nothing but pluck my fucking guitar!”  
  
“At least I’m not an unstable bitch who blames her dad for everything!”  
  
Her palm lands on his cheek with a loud smack.  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
Draco inhales, then slowly exhales, fuming. “Get out.”  
  
Hermione gathers all of her belongings and does so, slamming the door on her way out.

* * *

He shows up in her office eleven weeks after she left his flat. Admittedly, the immediate horrified expression that takes over her face as soon as she sees him standing on her doorway stings a little bit—okay, maybe a lot, but he continues to stride forward, shutting the door behind him to get the best privacy one can get in a hospital.  
  
“What are you doing here?” she demands, crossing her arms over her chest and gazing away from him with a scowl.  
  
Draco subconsciously shrugs, his gaze darting around her stale office. “I missed you.”  
  
She snorts, no doubt taking his words as a simple joke. And maybe, it is. Maybe she knows him better than he knows himself. “Were you seen by anyone when you came in here?”  
  
Despite himself, his temper quickly rises. “Of course, I was. I can’t exactly go and find a secret passageway, can I, Granger? Since we’re at a bloody hospital?”  
  
He only says her surname on two special occasions; when he’s extremely horny and when he’s extremely pissed off, and he can almost feel the beating of her heart quickens at his mention of it right underneath his palms. He’s not quite sure why, but he’s in tuned with every part of her whenever he cares to listen and feel. And most of the time, the sound of her mere existence is enough to calm his soul, but today is different. Today, she makes him a whole lot angrier than he’s ever been before.  
  
She’s ashamed of him; it’s all becoming clear now. She hates his music; she hates that he’s unemployed; she hates his dreams. He doesn’t know why she has the capacity to even stare at him if she hates him so much.  
  
Granger’s nostrils flare, her shoulders tensing. “What are you implying?”  
  
“Don’t,” he starts, looming over her in an attempt to rein in his points deeper into her bushy little head. “Do not put this shite on me. You’re the one who started this.”

“Started what?” She feigns ignorance, unable to meet his eyes for some unknown reason.  
  
“You think I’m worthless, don’t you?” he continues straightforwardly. “You think that you don’t deserve to be mine just because I’m not a sodding doctor like you, correct?”  
  
Hermione looks at him then with the usual furious fire in her brown eyes. “I will never belong to you.”  
  
He licks his lips, teeth grinding to form the cruelest sneer he’s sure he learned from his dear old dead father. “Don’t kid yourself, you always have.”  
  
“Just because we’re trapped in this soulmate shit does not mean you own me nor does it mean I own you!”  
  
He searches for something sincere in her eyes, and when he finds it, he gives in with a sigh. “Fine. I’m not yours and you’re not mine, but at least treat me like I’m more than an occasional fuck buddy.”  
  
“Oh, wow,” she sardonically says, throwing her hands up in the air. “The guy who supposedly doesn’t believe in love suddenly wants a label. That’s rich.”  
  
He catches her wrists in the air and grips them tightly, frustration influencing every movement he makes. “I’m not fucking asking you to fall in love with me, darling. I’m telling you to treat me seriously.”  
  
Unsurprisingly, she looks confused. “I always—”  
  
“Don’t deny it, Hermione,” he hisses in a gentle tone, putting a finger over her soft lips that he's missed so very much. “I know what you feel. You wanted someone as great as you, and when you saw me, you realized that’s never going to happen.”  
  
Her gaze softens and the atmosphere shifts drastically. “That doesn’t mean you’re not great as yourself, Draco.”  
  
He scoffs, looking away and feeling uncomfortable as his insecurities are brought up into the air. “I’m a failure, I know you think that. I guess… I’m sorry I’m not like you.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry!” she fiercely demands before looking down, guilt creeping in on her features. “I—I’m not… You’re not a failure. You’re a great person, and in some aspects, a greater person than I can ever be. I’m… I’m sorry.”  
  
Draco lets go of her wrists to run a hand through his hair. “Look, according to my therapist, I’m a bloke who thinks love is bullshit because of the lack of affection during my shitty childhood and because of all the dysfunctional relationships I’ve had in the past—but that doesn’t mean I don’t… want you and all the giddy feelings you make me feel. I want that, I really do. Love doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with it, but I would really like to have a serious commitment to someone destiny thinks is enough to be my other half. The problem is, I know you don’t want that. You don’t want me.”  
  
He only feels the tears running down his cheeks when her hand softly lands on them.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought that this career shit is the most important and that everything should be exactly as I planned it. I thought this, you and I, wouldn’t last, and it was all just a big mistake, but… now that I’m reorganizing and evaluating my thoughts, I think…”  
  
His head snaps to look at her, greedy for answers. “You think what?”  
  
“Well,” she begins, her eyes dazed and distracted, “remember when you said you think human beings only fall in love with the concepts, ideas, and thoughts they associate to another person?”  
  
“Yes,” he says, uncertain of where she’s heading.  
  
Hermione raises her nose into the air and crosses her arms once more in a defensive stance. “I think I just reached a conclusion which states that I, Hermione Jean Granger, is in love with the idea of you.”  
  
He laughs. Then, he kisses her.  
  
And then, he starts to realize something. Maybe they aren’t a great cosmic mistake, after all. Maybe they truly are meant to be.  
  
Afterwards, he reaches a conclusion of his own: Draco Lucius Malfoy’s purpose in life is to be with his soulmate and other half, Hermione Jean Granger.  
  
He just hopes he’s right this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt used: "I will never belong to you.”  
> “Don’t kid yourself, you always have.”  
> This one-shot is written for February 2020 of DFW's 2020 Challenge. Apologies for the delay! Got busy & had no time to finish this on time, but here it is now! Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Paalam! ;)


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